


put your pieces back into place

by defcontwo



Series: jaytim tattoo 'verse [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:38:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on, you and a tattoo? Who would believe that?" Tim Drake in a tale of secret identities, subterfuge and Backstreet Boys tats. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	put your pieces back into place

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you oodles and oodles to [somehowunbroken](http://somehowunbroken.tumblr.com/) for giving me the inspiration for this. :)

"So, Vicki Vale is on your case again," Dick says, handing a file over to Tim to flip through. "What are you going to do about it?" 

Tim works at a knot in his neck -- the tension is bleeding outwards into the rest of the body and it's driving him nuts. This whole situation is driving him nuts. "Why is it always me? She's so convinced that I'm Red Robin but the rest of you, she barely notices." 

"Come on, Tim, why do you think. Who would suspect me of being Batman?" Dick asks, gesturing at himself. It's true for all that it's infuriating -- Dick has a certain carefree persona, a certain light-heartedness that people believe all too readily, missing the core of steel underneath. It's not the same as Brucie and maybe that's why Dick gets away with it better than the rest of them -- it's more genuine. Brucie is a barely held together facade but Dick Grayson's open, bleeding heart, that's about as real as it gets. 

And Tim -- Tim knows what he's like. Knows that he's all sharp edges and too much held back and he hasn't quite got the hang of the public persona as well as he'd like. He's always been good at disguises; a little too good, a little scary good in a way that made him wonder if one day he'd disappear into a disguise completely, forget who he really is. 

But Timothy Wayne, rich party boy and business tycoon? That one chafes and wears thin a little too often, and a little more and more lately. 

He doesn't know what he wants out of his life, not really. He knows that he wants the life; he wants the rooftops and the adrenaline rush and the bite of flesh meeting bone. It's too much apart of him now to turn back. He knows that he wants his family by his side, always, and lately -- well, lately there's been Jason, a well kept secret that he's slowly wrapping his mind around. 

Add it all up and it's almost a complete picture. It's probably a little insane, a little entitled, to ask for a more fulfilling day job than herding overpaid glory-hounds. 

Tim tugs at the end of his ponytail, lost in his thoughts, as he sets the file Dick gave him down on the computer console. "I've got to stage something. I'm not up and using crutches again for a year, though, that was a real pain in the ass." 

"Maybe, I don't know? If only there was some sort of identifying mark that Tim Wayne could have and Red Robin wouldn't, that'd be a quick, easy way to throw her off, right? At least for now." 

Tim's mind buzzes. "What, like a temporary tattoo? You know, that _could_ work."

Dick laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Come on, you and a tattoo? Who would believe that?"

Tim's hand doesn't quite fall to his hip, doesn't quite brush over the place where his tattoo is covered up, but it's a very near thing. His lips quirk up and he fights hard to maintain a neutral expression. "It could be my late teenage rebellion." 

"Tim, you turned twenty last week. Don't tell me you forgot already," Dick teases. 

"Like I said," Tim huffs out. " _Late_ rebellion. I could say I got it for my birthday." 

"What, and you have someone just waiting around to draw a temporary tattoo on you?" 

Now, Tim doesn't even try to fight back the grin spreading across his face. "Don't worry, Dick. I have my sources." 

\+ 

"I've got a proposition for you," Tim says, mumbling into warm skin, half his body sprawled on top of Jason's, sweat cooling between them like if they stayed here long enough, they could wind up sticking together and Tim should maybe mind that a little more than he actually does. 

Jason chuckles, vibrating beneath him, and Tim can feel the way his chest rises and falls with it. "Think it's a little late for that one, Timmy." 

Lips brush skin, teeth dragging across a nipple, eliciting a groan. "Don't call me that." 

Jason tugs a hand through Tim's long, sex-tangled hair. "Fine, Princess Timothy. What's the proposition?"

"Vale's on my case again. Dick had this idea -- " Jason snorts and Tim reaches over and pinches him on the arm. "Dick had this idea that if Tim Wayne had an identifying mark that that Red Robin didn't, it could throw her off for a bit." 

"And what, stage a fight, have someone tear apart your uniform to reveal it in a public place? That's a lotta factors up in the air." 

"Tea Party demonstration on Saturday near City Hall. The entire Gotham media will be there, Vale included. Red Hood shows up, looking to shake them up and bash some heads -- Red Robin shows up looking to keep the peace and Hood doesn't react well. I'll make sure the usual traps on my suit are disabled. Your kris should do the job, right?" 

Jason hums. "Could work, yeah. But it should be the other way around." 

"What?" 

"Red Robin has the tat, Tim Wayne doesn't. The chances of you gettin' caught unawares and having your lack of tattoo revealed are much greater as a civilian than in your wired and booby-trapped to hell and back uniform." 

"There's some charity benefit Bruce wants me to go to Monday afternoon," Tim says, lifting himself up to fold his arms across Jason's chest, pillowing his head on top of them. 

"Wear a thin, white shirt? Maybe get someone to spill all over it so it's see through? Now there's a thought...." Jason waggles his eyebrows. "Tim Wayne Wet T-Shirt Contest." 

"I'm so glad that you're taking the protection of my secret identity seriously," Tim says dryly. 

"Just one question."

"Yeah?" 

Jason grins and it is sharp, all teeth, and that look really shouldn't light a fuse in Tim but it does, oh god, it does. "The Tea Party rally -- I still get to bash some skulls, right?" 

"Nothing fatal. Nothing remotely serious. Just because they're assholes doesn't mean that it's okay for you to put them in traction." 

"So...no shooting out kneecaps?" 

Tim just raises both eyebrows. 

"You ruin all my fun, Tim." 

"I think I make up for it in other arenas," Tim says archly, angling his hips, pressing downwards. 

"Ah, fuck. You've, uh, you've got a point there," Jason says. His pupils are wide, hair sticking out in tufts all over his head, and he's got bruises all along his neck, just like Tim knows if he checked in the mirror, there'd be scratch marks all down his back. 

They are made up of physical marks, the both of them, covered up by clothing, pressed linen and soft cotton falling over ink and injury alike. Touchstones that remind them of a conscious choice, like digging in their heels and telling the world that tries its hardest to tear them down to go fuck itself. 

"You know, Dick thought it was hilarious," Tim says, grinning crookedly down at Jason. "The idea of me getting a tattoo. Thought that no one would buy it." 

Jason hooks a foot under Tim's leg and flips them, bracing his elbows on either side of Tim's head, hanging over him, white hairs brushing against Tim's forehead. "Scandalous. Whatever will big bro think of you if he were to find out the truth?" 

"It doesn't matter. It's not his business." 

"Now, only one of those things you just said is true," Jason says and he could pick at it, and he probably wants to, a little, but they've got better things to do than fight and Jason knows it, moving his head down, lips brushing against skin lightly until he reaches his target. He always does this, always fixates on Tim's aperture and it's probably a bit possessive, this attention Jason pays to the ink that he etched into Tim's skin but maybe that's another thing Tim likes a little more than he should. 

Tim twists his fingers into Jason's hair and tugs. "You going to get on with it?" 

"Bossy, bossy," Jason murmurs but he shifts anyways, swallowing Tim down and as Tim arches into it, vision whiting out at the edges, he thinks that yeah, if he gets to have this, he can probably put up with the shitty day job. 

\+ 

It's late Friday night and Jason is hunched over a leaf of tracing paper, refusing to let Tim see what he's drawing. 

"What, I'm not even going to get a hint?"

"Shut up and eat your pizza, Timothy," Jason says, pointing an angry finger in Tim's direction before hunching back over. 

"Fine, whatever, drama queen," Tim mutters, leaning over to pick up another slice of pizza from the box before leaning back against the counter and folding the slice in half to take a bite. "I'm going to eat all of this if you don't take a break." 

Jason makes a noncommittal noise and keeps drawing. 

"That better not be a well rendered sketch of Dick's ass or I don't know, something embarrassing like a portrait of the Backstreet Boys." 

"You might consider it embarrassing. You might not."

"Gee, that's reassuring." 

"Hey, you're the one who said dealer's choice since it's only temporary." 

"And I'm regretting that choice more and more with every passing minute." 

"Tough shit, princess," Jason says, before setting his gel pen down with a flourish. "Done and done. Check it out."

Tim crosses over to the kitchen table and leans over Jason's shoulder to look down at the drawing. "Jason. That's a Blue Jay in flight."

"Is _it_?"

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. "The only way it could be more obvious that you're the one who drew it for me is if instead of that, it said in giant block letters: DONNA TROY ROCKS." 

Jason turns his head and looks up at Tim, an entirely serious look crossing his face. "Are you saying she doesn't?" 

Tim huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

But he knows about "Blue Jay", knows because he'd gone through some of Jason's old notebooks years and years ago, knows that Jason had had plans and sketches of what his life might be like post-Robin, when he grew up like Dick. Jason took the idea that he would one day grow up and grow into his own with the seriousness of all fourteen year olds, and the lists had ranged everywhere from serious to downright ridiculous. The costume for Wonder Girl's sidekick had made Tim laugh until his belly ached with it until it hit him, with a flash, that none of those plans had a prayer's chance in hell of coming to pass. The boy who wrote them dead and gone and so he'd folded up the notebook and put it away where he'd found them, letting himself out of Jason's old bedroom never to return to it. 

Jason is the Red Hood, now, and some day he may be something else, but he'll never be any of the things in that notebook. 

"All right," Tim says. "Lay it on me." 

"What, no more protests? You're not gonna fight it even a little?"

Tim shrugs a shoulder, the things he knows itching to get out, but. Time and a place and this isn't it. 

"Nope. Like you said, it's only temporary, right?" 

Jason's brow furrows, like he knows there's something Tim isn't saying but he shrugs, letting it go. "Right, whatever. Take your shirt off and let's get started." 

"What, no foreplay?" 

Jason fixes him with an intent look. "Nah, let's save that for the fight tomorrow morning." 

A shiver runs down Tim's spine. Yeah, that'll be a hell of a thing. 

+

Hundreds of angry conservatives and a handful of angry counter protestors, and just about every news outlet and journalist in the state all converging right in front of Gotham City Hall. Red Robin can make out Vicki Vale, her bright red hair shining in the early morning sun, as she goes around taking interviews. 

Red Robin taps at the comm-link in his ear. "Hood, you up for it?" 

"I'm gonna need a _little_ bit of a push. I can't just start hitting people out of nowhere." 

"Six O'Clock. There's some guy trying to start a fight with a counter protestor. Jump in, look like you're trying to break it up, and then you lose your temper. Shouldn't be too hard to fake, huh?"

Red Hood's voice chuckles in Red Robin's ear. "You implying I'm an angry soul, Red?"

"I'm not implying, I'm saying. Now get out there." 

Red Robin waits, eyes sharp on the spot where Hood should crash in. Three, two, one, there he is. Hood leaps in between two men who were trying to start a fight. Both of them snap at him, one of them getting nastier than the other. Tim doesn't have to hear Jason to know what he's doing, to know that he's spouting off and winding the other guy up, whipping them up into a proper brawl. If there's one thing Jason excels at, it's pissing people off with ease and creativity. 

He doesn't even have to wait for Jason to start the fight because the other guy throws the first punch and Tim's already on the move, moving so fast that he's up behind Hood even as Jason is lifting a fist to fight back. Tim reaches out, gripping hold of Jason's wrist and fighting it back. 

"Now, now, Hood. This is no way to act in a civilian protest. It's none of your business, move along." 

"If it's none of our business, what are you doing here sticking your big nose in everything, huh, Red?"

Tim rolls his shoulders a little, getting ready. "This doesn't have to get ugly, Hood. You can just go home." 

"Oh, Red, darling," Jason says and Tim can just _see_ the grin beneath the helmet. "It's always gotta get ugly." 

And they're off. 

Hood is bigger and heavier and just all around better at brawling but Red Robin's got training from Lady Shiva and the Black Bat on his side and Tim can feel his blood pumping through his body, his adrenaline rising, and he loves this, loves fighting someone for the hell of it who gives as good as he gets. They're not aiming to hurt, not really, but they're doing a hell of a job at making it look like it does as they land punches and take kicks that look nastier than they are. 

Tim sweeps Jason's feet out from under him, pressing forward, fighting to keep Jason down with his arms to the ground and this is the part they talked about, the part where Jason's hand escapes from Tim's hold, the part where his knife comes around and sinks in. They have to time it just right, Tim's feigned twist and and the catch of Jason's kris and Red Robin's suit has a gaping, jagged hole in it around the shoulder, revealing a bright, black and white blue jay in flight. 

"Fuck," Red Robin cries out, a little louder than usual for good measure. Behind him, he can hear the snap of about half a dozen cameras, which isn't even mentioning all of the people with smart phones. 

He pushes off from the ground and takes off, pulling out a line and heading for the nearest rooftop. It's an embarrassing and ungainly exit that Tim winces at because he's always made a point of appearing put together but well, when needs must. 

He's four blocks away and catching his breath on top of a convenience store when his comm-link crackles to life. "Uh, Red Robin? You okay?"

Tim leans back against the hard brick. "Yup. All clear, Batman."

"Was that -- was that part of your plan?" Dick asks, incredulous. 

"Yup." 

"You involved _Red Hood_ in your plan?" 

"Yup."

"We're going to have a talk later, Red."

And Tim would be freaked out, he would, but he's a little bit past the point of caring, winded and high on adrenaline as he is. "Yeah, I kind of thought we might. But in the mean time, I have to go. I'll check in later, Batman."

He taps off the comm-link and makes for Jason's loft. 

\+ 

The next morning, there's photos of his tattoo all over the Gotham newspapers. The GCPD, it says, are running it against any known felon in the country. So far, they've come up with nothing. 

Red Robin's identity remains a mystery. 

Tim scrubs the remainder of it off, using extra-strength soap, the black ink running down the drain. "Is it all gone?" 

Jason pushes back the shower curtain. "Yeah. Hold on, there's just a little bit -- " He reaches over, picking up the washcloth and working at Tim's shoulder. It feels good on Tim's aching muscles and he leans back into it, letting out a sigh. 

"Have you thought about a second?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, a real one," Jason says, still working at the washcloth even though Tim has a feeling that he really doesn't need to. 

"I have, actually." Jason's movements still. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Tim says, reaching out and grabbing hold of Jason's left hand, guiding it along Tim's side, to a spot just near the edge of his ribcage. "Right about here." 

Jason's palms flatten, calloused fingers rough against smooth skin. "Now _that'll_ hurt." 

"Worth it, though." 

"What of?" 

Tim tips his head back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's a surprise."

"Annoying little shit," Jason murmurs, brushing a kiss across Tim's forehead. "Next time, I really will draw the Backstreet Boys all over you." 

"Promises, promises." 

\+ 

"Mister Wayne, Mister Wayne, could I have a word please?" 

"For you, Vicki? Always," Tim says, a smile that is all charm and smarm that kind of makes him want to gag a little pasted across his face. 

"How was your weekend? I don't suppose you were around when that fracas went down in front of City Hall?" 

Tim laughs. "At eleven in the morning on a Saturday? I was dead asleep, Vicki."

"Well, I wish we were all as lucky as you, Timothy. Now, isn't it a little hot for you to be wearing that jacket?" 

Tim plucks at the buttons of his blazer. It is ungodly hot outside -- he can feel the sweat pooling at the small of his back. He knows that when he takes his jacket off, his thin shirt will stick to him, pulling over muscles and making it abundantly clear that his back is clear. He couldn't have picked a better day for this if he tried. 

"You know, Vicki? You're right. This jacket is killing me," Tim says, unbuttoning his blazer and taking it off carefully. He turns his back to her, leaning down and over to throw his blazer over the chair assigned to him for the day's luncheon. When he turns back around to face Vale, a scowl has set in and there's a frustrated set to her jaw. 

The thing is, Tim feels for her, he really does -- he knows what it's like to _know_ with every ounce of his being that he's right and to want more than anything the proof in front of him for all to see. Vale is not only right, she's brilliant, but the day he risks his identity by giving it up to her is the day he has to hang up the cape and cowl. 

"Something wrong, Vicki?" 

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. If you'll excuse me, Timothy, I've got a few other people to talk to today." 

She makes her excuses quickly, taking off and Tim lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He allows himself the moment, the victory, the rush of feeling just a little bit more smug than is good for him. 

"All part of the plan, huh?" Dick asks, sneaking up from behind. 

"That's right," Tim says, turning to face his brother. "Worked, didn't it?"

"Now," Dick says, crossing his arms across his chest. "About that talk we were going to have."

Tim blanches, all feelings of victory draining from him. 

Well, fuck.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] put your pieces back into place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448465) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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